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The Poetry of Wendy McVicker & Cathy Cultice Lentes
“I believe, oh yes! We will get there./We’ll row out from these islands/where we’re marooned, sorting shells/and scribbling notes to send/into the dark. We’ll gather/on that porch and lift our glasses/in a salute…
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The Poetry of James Engelhardt
“The game was simple:/get to the city center, harass the other boy’s soldiers./Like my brother and cousins, it was always boys,/but on this box a yellow chick, harried, flees,/and a young rabbit looks…
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The Poetry of Richard Allen Taylor
“Like my father and grandfather before me, I paint/these walls to the light of a torch usually held/by an apprentice, my son. Today, I wedge the torch/in a crevice as my boy crosses…
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The Poetry of James Cervantes
“’There is no/such thing as/piano accompaniment’/becomes difficult/for him to say in/his mellifluous voice/of thick, dark oatmeal/However, if/‘There is no/such thing as/piano on the streets/of New York/at 9 a.m. this day/in the year of…
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The Poetry of Zorina Exie Frey
“Form can’t hold me. My fleshy vessel contains too much./Metrics can suppress a message. To say, braves feats of strength./What does the Milky Way weigh? What is the meter of galaxy?/Through math, we…
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The Writing of Marream Krollos
“. . .The horses can focus. They will not be disturbed by their vision. I am too loud when I speak. We are also too loud. The horses stay quiet in the city.…
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The Poetry of Adrienne Burris
“I want to tell both wolves that one year ago,/my brother died in the middle of the night./Died suddenly and alone, so this freefall, over/the edge with breath-catching, body strapped/floating over steel beams,…
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Doug Van Gundy’s Poetry
“The man at the table across from mine/is eating a painting with a knife and fork./It looks to be a lesser Pollock, or perhaps/a Clyfford Still, regardless, abstract/expressionism, surprisingly modern/for a restaurant…
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The Poetry of Jeff Hardin
“Almost as suddenly, I thought of all the important lines by others that have stayed with me through the years: ‘You must change your life’ (Rilke), ‘How soon unaccountable I became’ (Whitman), ‘practice…
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The Poetry of Karen Donovan
“When the weather turns left I’ll turn into it,/reaching for washouts with my inherited pedipalps,/wagering grapeshot precision I can get home/before lightning thumbtacks me to the palisades./My middle game has never been that…